


Come Home

by jaimesselfishmachines



Series: Idiot Boyfriends (head over heels and in denial) [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Flirty Hercules, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, I Ship It, I have no shame, Idiots in Love, M/M, Made For Each Other, Recreational Drug Use, Worried Laurens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 22:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimesselfishmachines/pseuds/jaimesselfishmachines
Summary: When General Montgomery takes a bullet to the neck, Laurens is called to replace him as Commander of the northern troops.His boyfriend, Hercules Mulligan, isn't too happy about that.





	Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> I ship these two, but it seems like no-one else does. :/  
> Lafayette and Hercules USED to date.

“Phone for you, Commander.” The young woman is curt, and has seen better days. Her uniform is tracked with mud, obscuring her nametag, and dried blood cakes the skin at the edge of her scalp.

“Not now, kid,” Laurens’ head tilts in her direction, accompanied by a dismissive wave of his hand. The hand that isn’t purple and swollen. The British have his forces by the proverbial throat, and Laurens needs to find a way out of the stalemate. Doing so would be easier if his horse hadn’t spooked. Laurens thanks the lucky stars that his writing arm is spared the trauma of bruised bone. “I’m re-working our advance strategy.”

“ _Sir._ ” The tone is urgent and forceful as the phone is slammed on the table in front of him. Laurens perks up, ready to give the officer a tongue-lashing for insubordination. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t need the in-fighting, not when the enemy is so close. “Phone for you.”

“Thank you…?” Laurens reaches for the phone, looking at the woman to introduce herself.

“Hemings,” the woman supplies, ”Captain of the Continental Armies under the late General Montgomery. The man whose chair you’re sitting in, _Sir._ ”

Laurens nods thoughtfully. “You were his right hand, Captain Hemings?”

“Yes,” That would explain the animosity. “I--”

“Take the lead on this one.”

“You outrank me, Major Laurens.”

“But you know General Montgomery’s tactics. You know his men. You are capable and far more experienced in this terrain. It would be an honour to fight under your command, Captain.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Hemings salutes Laurens who returns the gesture as he stands. “We ride at dawn.”

“Understood.” Laurens says, ducking under and out of the tent. He puts the receiver to his ear. “Hello?”

 

“I need you.”

Laurens blinks rapidly as he hears the words, muffled and slightly distorted by the poor connection. He understands the words themselves, that he is needed, but they don’t make sense in his head.

“Laurens,” It’s Hercules, soft and subdued. There’s a faint buzzing sound, but Laurens can’t tell if it comes from his end or Herc’s.

“I’m in the middle of tactical right now, babe.” Laurens replies, “What do you need?”

“I need you. Come _home_.”

Laurens’ birthplace is six states away, his apartment is about forty-five minutes away, but they aren’t what Hercules is referring to. Laurens tries to tamp down on the sentimentality of it all, how his cheeks dust pink when thinks of _home_ as anywhere with Hercules nearby. How Hercules imagines home as somewhere with Laurens in it. The dream shatters at the sound of violent coughing and Hercules moaning.

“Are you sick? Are you hurt?” Laurens grips the phone tightly, as though that will coax assurances through the receiver, but there’s no answer. “ _Hercules_ , if you can hear me, I'm on my way.”

 

* * *

 

Laurens sways on his feet, trying to balance the weight of standing on sore, aching muscles. He raises his arm to knock before pasting it back down to his side, yanking down the sleeve for good measure. Hercules would fawn over the injury in a heartbeat. He tries the doorknob, which doesn’t work; and of course it doesn’t work. Usually, Laurens would pick the lock with whatever was handy, but his kit is at the camp miles away, and his left arm lacks the dexterity necessary to fiddle with the security feature. Guess it’s back to Plan A.

Laurens cuffs his fist and pounds on the door, swaying anxiously in the subsequent silence. He hears shuffling, like Hercules is re-arranging furniture, and then is greeted with the sight of the man himself.

Herc’s eyes are red and bloodshot, vacantly staring at Laurens through blown pupils.

“Jesus, what wrong?” 

Hercules’ voice breaks in his confession, “You should know that Laf was here.”

“What'd that motherfucker do? Did he hurt you?” Laurens is immediately on guard. It’s no secret that he holds the Marquis in low esteem. He peers around the obstruction that is Hercules Mulligan, and into the apartment, hand on his holster. Inside, the scent of fresh paint is strong, smacking Laurens in the face with an instant headache. Hercules is slow to answer, turning slightly to pull Laurens into the apartment. The door closes behind them, and Hercules presses Laurens into it, using his strength and the element of surprise to trap Laurens.

“Hercules, what’s going on?” Laurens squints, as though it’ll relieve the overwhelming scent of solvent in the apartment. It doesn’t work, and he collapses forward into Herc’s body, hands gripping tightly at Herc’s biceps. “Hercules, why c-can’t I…” Laurens sighs, hair falling into his face as his legs turn to jelly and refuse to support him. “I can’t... _Hercules, make it stop._ ”

Hercules laughs heartily. “C’mon, babygirl.” Hercules props Laurens up, carrying him to the living room and resting him gently on the couch. “I’ll be right back.” Laurens wishes he could ask Hercules to stay, to keep Laurens wrapped in his arms… but he is yet to regain control of his vocal cords. Hercules comes back maybe a minute and a half later, bag of chips in hand, though to Laurens, the time may as well have been forever.

“ _Hercules,”_ Laurens can hear the weakness in his voice, “what did you do?” He runs his hands down his body as inconspicuously as possible. He still has his clothes on, so it can’t be that Hercules somehow _literally_ fucked him stupid, or that he came so hard he hit his head.

Hercules must see what he’s doing, because he gestures in the direction of the bedroom. “Your gun’s in there. You looked about ready to shoot me, so I took it off you. It’s safe. You’re safe. We’re safe. You can relax and enjoy it.”

“Did you drug me?” Laurens gathers his limbs -- they’re all still attached -- ready to launch an attack at the man in front of him. The betrayal hurts more than his head.

“I didn’t drug you.” Hercules says, shovelling chips into his mouth, “But you **clearly** haven’t been high before.” The sentence is punctuated by a series of giggles from Hercules, a sound that whilst ordinarily cute, is driving Laurens up the (freshly painted) wall. “Seriously, you’ve never smoked weed before?”

“I went to an all-boys private boarding school. In South Carolina.”

“Right,” Hercules nods, “No time for smoking when you’re that rich. Too busy sucking the dicks of anybody on the Lacrosse team.”

“Hey! _**I**   _was on the Lacro-- oh.”

“Exactly.” Hercules crawls across the carpet, stopping when he ends up between Laurens’ legs. He places one hand on either knee, and rises forward to make eye-contact. Laurens watches Hercules closely.

“I’m _home,”_ Laurens starts, bringing a hand up to Herc’s face, letting his thumb run across his boyfriend’s cheekbones. “You sounded hurt on the phone. What did you need?”

Hercules ducks his head under Laurens’, pressing open lips to Laurens’ neck.

“You.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Published as soon as I wrote it. All mistakes are my own.  
> Veeeeery tenuously linked to a new fic I'll write.


End file.
